Russian Cursive is Bullshit
by Mizuni-no-neko
Summary: America is having a little trouble concentrating in a meeting due to the hot weather and his hot boyfriend. When he asks said boyfriend for his notes after the meeting however, it's not what he expected. My 'love' letter to Russian cursive. RusAme, France and Italy being France and Italy. T for language.


Just a little short something for a friend. Russian cursive is, as the title implies, complete bullshit. I learned it in college while I was taking Russian and its just COMPLETE BULLSHIT but EVERYONE USES IT!

Here's a picture, if you want to make yourself cry: s. pikabu .ru/ images/big_size_comm/2012-04_1/13333960804509 .jpg

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"And as the ice in the Arctic continues to melt, new shipping routes will open. As you know, this will create tensions as we all begin to compete for space. Now my suggestion is..." Norway droned on and on, the heat of mid-summer making the room warm despite the fans and the broken air conditioner still puttering on despite not making a dent in the heat.

America had already stripped down to a wife beater, fanning himself with his notes instead of actually paying attention. It wasn't that the subject was boring or pointless, quite the contrary. He had a vested interest in staking his claim on new Arctic shipping routes. But it was so goddamn _hot_! He felt like his brain was melting out of his ears.

He glanced around the room, hoping at least that everyone was as miserable as he was. Germany hadn't even undone a single button, poor guy. France, on the other hand, had even less on that Alfred did, though not as little as Italy, who had stripped down to his boxers. The only sign that England was feeling the heat was a loosened tie and undone top button, though France was trying in vain to get him to take his shirt off.

And then there was Russia. Big, strong, well-muscled, _delicious_ Russia. He was (un)dressed similarly to Alfred, with nothing but his undershirt and pants on. But he pulled it off so well, if you asked Alfred. Broad shoulders glistened with sweat, his suspenders cutting a nice line down his torso. The cloth clung to him in all the right places, and Alfred wanted to run his fingers across his skin. The only thing ruining the picture was Ivan's ever-present scarf that kept him from seeing the pale expanse of his neck and the hickeys he'd left all over it last night.

Of course, it was just America's luck that Ivan chose that exact moment to look up at him and shoot him a look of annoyance, gesturing towards Norway and going back to his notes. Alfred ducked his head down, his cheeks burning as he tried to concentrate on his own notes. But soon he lost focus again, casting his eyes around the room. After idly scanning the other nations and finding nothing of interest, he settled back on Russia.

His hair was messy and slightly damp with sweat, but the tousled look was good on him. It reminded Al of early morning sex. He liked early morning sex. With Russia. God, he was hot.

Okay, now his brain was short-circuiting. Think of something else, Al!

He shook his head to clear the dirty thoughts and tried to focus on anything other than how much he wanted to drag Ivan into the nearest closet and wrap his lips around that glorious-

'I thought we weren't thinking about that, Alfred.' He chastized himself.

He cast another glance at the man across from him, smiling softly. He had a look of frazzled concentration on his face, obviously bothered by the heat. He would hear about it later, in Ivan's freezing hotel room. He was a giant baby and a huge complainer, honestly, which isn't something Alfred had expected from him at first. But when it came to the heat, Ivan was just as much of a pussy-ass as he was about the cold.

Whatever Ivan saw on his face the second time he looked up, it made him smile back before dropping his attention back to his notes. At least, Alfred thought, he could borrow those notes after the meeting to catch up on everything he missed watching Ivan.

As if on cue, Norway wrapped his speech up and Canada called the conference to a close. Alfred looked down at his mostly blank notepad adorned with more doodles than writing and sighed. Looks like he'd have to borrow those notes after all.

"Hey, Russia, wait up!" He called as Ivan collected his things and began to leave.

"Yes, America?" Ivan asked, slowing his steps so the younger nation could catch up.

"Do you think I could borrow your notes? I was trying to concentrate, honest! It was just so hot...and _you_ were so hot~" He teased. "But in all seriousness, this is a pretty important subject and I'm kicking myself for forgetting my meds at home. My concentration's been shot all week."

"Of course, dorogoy." He nodded, handing Alfred his notepad. "I'll need them back once you copy them, though. As you said, this is an important matter."

"Yeah, I'll get them back to you later. Just gonna..." He trailed off as he looked down at the notepad and frowned. Where he had expected neat, precise handwriting he could read easily, he found a series of nonsensical loops. This wasn't Cyrillic. Alfred could read Cyrillic, and this wasn't it.

"What the shit, Braginsky!? If you were just going to doodle on your notepad, why did you agree to give me your notes!? I could have just asked Matt if you were going to be an ass about it." Alfred huffed, staring at the page in disbelief.

"Alik, I did not doodle on my note pad, those are my notes." Ivan sighed. "They are in cursive. Surely you've seen my handwriting before?" He asked.

"Dude, when would I have seen your handwriting in Russian? We communicate mostly in English because you said my Russian is 'worse than a neglected, feral 5-year-olds'." He mocked him.

"Regardless, I assure you that those are my notes. You speak Russian, Alik, you can read them." Russia stated matter-of-factly.

"Ivan, babe, I love you, but if this is some kind of sick prank I am going to castrate you and mount your dick on my wall next to my 12-point buck." He growled.

"Alfred!" Ivan huffed. "Stop being so dramatic. I told you, it's in cursive! I can't make heads or tails of your writing in cursive, either."

"That's because my handwriting is shit! Your handwriting is supposed to be neat! You have failed me in my hour of need! Some boyfriend you are!" He crossed his arms, scowling petulantly.

Ivan pinched the bridge of his nose and ran his hand down his face. "How about this? I will copy the notes in English and give them to you later tonight. Will that make you happy, you bad-tempered child?" His tone was scolding, and Alfred instantly felt contrite.

"I'm not gonna make you do all that, babe. I can get the notes from Mattie." He assured him. But suddenly, an idea came to him.

"Or..." He smirked, latching on to Ivan's arm. "We could go back to the room and you can tell me all about it~" He suggested, batting his eyes at the older nation. "Like...recap and chill."

Ivan looked down at him like he wanted to shove him off and facepalm, but after a moment he chuckled and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I think that sounds acceptable. But in my room. You never keep yours cool enough." He grumbled.

'Called it!' Alfred snickered to himself as he tugged Ivan down the hallway.


End file.
